They Took My Liver,Then They Cried at My Grave
Chapter 3
Lina grabbed my arm and tried to yank me up.
But I was so weak I stumbled and fell right at Vincent’s feet.
I looked up, and he was grinning, no more fake sick act, just pure smug.
My mind flashed back to five years ago, the night they threw me out.
Rain was pouring down in Palermo. I was soaked to the bone, blood trickling from a cut on my head, walking aimlessly down the street.
Lina pulled up next to me, held an umbrella over my head, bought me a slice of pizza at the corner shop, sat there for hours listening to me yell about how my family hated me.
She’d sworn to be by my side forever, saying she hated Vincent more than anyone.
When did that change?
When Vincent started bringing her diamonds and taking her to fancy restaurants behind my back? When he kept showing up to all our dates, hanging off her like a leech?
When they started sneaking out together at 2 a.m.?
The woman I’d loved had chosen my worst enemy.
A faint, sharp twinge pricked my deadened heart.
But it didn’t matter.
I’m dying.
They can have everything.
I pushed myself up from the floor.
“Yeah, it’s my fault Lina got hit. I’ll go talk to the don.”
All of them froze, surprised I’d agreed so easily.
Mom looked at me, almost soft for a second.
“Now you’re acting like a proper older brother. Your father and I are proud of you.”
Dad nodded.
“We love you, kid, we just want you to look out for your brother.”
Even Lina seemed briefly guilty. She helped me up.
“I’ll go with you. I can calm my father down.”
I just smiled and said nothing.
There’s no coming back from this, not for me.
But Vincent opened his mouth again, all fake innocent.
“The don’s not gonna let it go that easy. However many lashes Lina took, you take double. Film it and send it to him—that’s the only way he’ll believe you’re sorry.”
While our parents weren’t looking, he winked and mouthed, “You can’t win,” before slipping back into his frail act.
Before I could respond, Lina cut in.
“Forget that. Let’s just go see the don now.”
But my parents immediately overruled her.
“No. This is the way it has to be. Come on, Nick! Be a man. It’s just a beating. You’ll apologize while it happens. Endure a little and it’ll be over.”
My mother added, her voice firm,
“You have to do this so the don will forgive Vincent. You’re the older brother. You carry the weight.”
Without letting me speak, they grabbed my arms and dragged me out into the courtyard.
My dad had a leather whip in his hand, and my mother was holding her phone up to film.
“Just hold still, Nick,” Mom said, like she was doing me a favor.
“This is the only way the don won’t come after Vincent. You’re the older brother, you take the hit for the family.”
I didn’t say a word, just bit down on my tongue so hard I tasted blood when the first whip hit my back.
It burned like hell, but I made no sound.
I watched them as they did it.
My parents were only worried about Vincent.
Lina stood off to the side, frowning, but she never once told them to stop.
Whatever. I’ve always been the disposable one.
When they were done, my back was covered in blood, my shirt stuck to the wounds.
Mom hit send on the video, glancing at my back like it was nothing.
“You’re tough, you’ll be fine. Patch yourself up, don’t be late for surgery tomorrow. We’re taking Vincent to see the don now.”
Lina knelt down next to me, voice all soft.
“Once this is all over, we’ll move to Tuscany. Just us. Wait for me.”
Watching them drive away, I started laughing.
A harsh, broken sound that turned into a cough, and I spat a mouthful of blood onto the wet stones.
Between the toxin and the beating, I was done.
Through the blur, I saw the old clock on the courtyard wall.
Twenty-four hours were up.
Vision went fuzzy, felt like all the life was draining out of me.
It started raining again, just like that night five years ago.
They’ll be so happy once I’m gone, no more hassle.
I closed my eyes, right before I passed out I only heard a sudden sound of brakes and my father's shout.
"Nick, get up! Stop pretending”
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